


Singular Specimens

by LallaChan



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Worried!Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 08:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LallaChan/pseuds/LallaChan
Summary: He'd left Watson in the garden, and now he can't find him.





	Singular Specimens

He'd left Watson in the garden.

 

Not that he'd wanted to, in fact it was most certainly the last thing he would have wanted to do, but the client had seemed ill at ease with a doctor there. Perhaps some bad experience in his history or some other obscure phobia. Whatever the reason, Holmes had politely suggested to Watson the estate's gardens were most amiable this time of year, and perhaps he would like to take a stroll in it.

 

His friend and associate had agreed without hesitation, having picked up on the man's uneasiness himself. He'd last seen his friend heading for some pretty flowers at the very end, where some irises were in full bloom. And now – blast it all – he can't find him. The discussion with the client had taken longer than expected, with many details needing to be ironed out. A full two hours and forty minutes later he'd finally been released from the man, and eager to find his friend. And now there was no sign of him.

 

Holmes had marched up and down the paths for the better part of fifteen minutes, and he'd not seen hide nor hair of Watson. He'd called out once, but no answer came. The gardens were big, and it was very possible Watson had simply walked too far to be heard, but even this logical explanation could not diminish the fear clawing up his throat, or the worry tightening in his chest. There were many people who would see the fall of Sherlock Holmes, and Watson, although not an easy target, was certainly a good one if they wanted to hurt the detective.

 

Although admitting this out loud was not something he would do readily. Nothing could come close to losing Watson, nothing. But his heart was starting to hammer in his chest as each minute passed and every corner and every spot proved fruitless.

 

He was heading back to the last place he'd seen his friend, in the hopes of picking up some sort of trail, when he finally spotted him coming around the rose bushes. His jacket hung over his arm, and he seemed a little worried.

 

Holmes felt relief ripple through him, followed by an instant pulse of anger. “Did you have a lovely stroll?” he sneered as he approached. Watson's worry twisted into guilt.

 

“I'm sorry Holmes. I was-”

 

“Whatever you were doing is of no concern! We have much to discuss, and you've wasted enough time!” and he spun around, heading for the exit of the estate and leaving Watson to catch up to his quick pace.

 

The carriage was waiting, Holmes stepped in and settled at the far end, staring out the window and leaving his friend to get in and close the door. Watson knocked on the roof and the carriage took off at a steady pace. There was a long silence, filled only with the churn of gravel and the clip-clop of hooves. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Watson trying to surreptitiously slide something into his bag medical bag. Normally he would leave the doctor to his own devices, he understood the need for privacy as much as anyone. But he was still angry with him for disappearing like that, for making him worry. He should know better!

 

 

Instantly he turned, “What have you got there Watson?” his hand snapped out and grabbed the small book before his friend could even voice his protest.

 

“Holmes, don't - !”

 

But he'd already opened it, showing near perfect artistic renditions of -

 

“Butterflies?”

 

He _felt_ Watson wince, “Yes,” he said, voice unnaturally small, “While I was in the garden I spotted quite a few lovely specimens.”

 

Holmes continued staring at the singular images, they were marvelous. The colors of the wings vibrant and smooth, the petals of the flowers crisp and soft. He turned a page revealing more, this time white with orange tips, sitting upon roses as red as blood. Another page, this time of a humming bird, perched upon a tree branch.

 

And finally a half-finished caterpillar, eating what he assume would eventually be a green leaf.

 

He couldn't help it, he smiled. He'd always known in some backwards sort of way that his friend enjoyed, and was at least decent at drawing. But he'd never imagined such a bright and colorful talent. When his Watson would cease to surprise him was anyone's guess. He flipped back to the first one, “These are quite excellent.”

 

“Thank you.” Watson sounded a little dumbfounded, but he quickly continued, “You have a right to be angry, I know I shouldn't waste time on such trivial things during a case, but when I get bored Holmes I-”

 

“I left you alone for almost three hours,” Holmes snapped the pad shut and held it out for his friend, now feeling his own guilt tight in his throat, “I am glad you have such a singular way to keep busy.”

 

Carefully Watson took the pad back, holding it in one hand it as if it might shatter. He stared intently at it, rubbing a thumb over the faded golden initials before finally sliding it back into his medical bag. Holmes did note the initials, but he kept from commenting.

 

Everyone grieved in different ways, and drawing in your dead brother's note-book was much better than drinking oneself to death.

 

“Will you take the case then?”

 

Holmes smiled, “Yes, my dear Watson. It might prove to be most interesting.”

 

Watson smiled in turn, and sitting closer he listened as Holmes explained everything about the case, Holmes noted how the sadness faded and the interest and excitement began to bubble beneath the surface. Quietly he hoped he would always have the ability to draw Watson out from wherever his mind deemed to drag him into. But of course if butterflies and hummingbirds did the same, he would have to ensure they visited gardens whenever they could.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Holmes can be a bit of an ass, but he loves his friend. :)


End file.
